


tequila, and other bad decisions

by ignitesthestars



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: In which Alina turns up to an 8am class with a few regrets about the night before, and quickly gains a few more.





	

Alina’s head hurts.

To be fair, this is not an unusual occurrence - her life has a tendency to be one headache right after the other sometimes. But this is a definite hot-needle-in-the-temple, steel-claws-digging-into-brain pounder of a brain ache, and the back of her throat tastes suspiciously like tequila and bad decisions.

The worst part isn’t even the hangover. The hangover would be bearable if it had perhaps come with a few blurring of the details of last night. Alina isn’t typically in favour of alcohol-induced memory loss, but then, she isn’t typically in favour of one night stands either.

No, the worst part is that she hadn’t even been that drunk. A couple of shots to take the edge off, to blunt the anxiety that always gripped her chest when her friends decided _clubs_ and _dancing_ and _being around other people_ was a good time. But the weight of her decisions rests firmly on her own shoulders and–

And she doesn’t even feel that bad about it. Other than the headache and the 8am class, and the 8am class was always going to be a nightmare. Alina finds herself contending with the fact that she is, apparently, the kind of person that’s totally fine with having a one night stand, when she’d always sort of assumed she was the ‘settle down and be boring if you even get that lucky’ type.

It occurs to her, as she stares blearily at the OneNote page open on her laptop, that she might have needed a shot of self confidence.

It occurs to her that the _very_ attractive man who had somehow seduced her with physics last night might have been the one wielding the needle. Images that are only tangentially related to science flicker through her mind, and it’s just her luck that there’s a bright red blush crawling up her cheeks when the professor walks into the class, clad in a black suit so sharply tailored you could cut yourself on the edges.

His dark hair is tied back in a loose knot at the back of his head. Inappropriately, Alina’s brain runs away with the memory of dragging her fingers through loose strands of a very similar shade. _Pull yourself together_ , she grumbles at herself. She’d worked hard to be put in this class, whose small size reflects the exclusivity. Professor Morozova is notoriously hard on his students, and his students are notoriously brilliant.

Alina doesn’t often feel brilliant, but the notification of her acceptance into his class had been one of those moments. She tries to focus on that feeling, and not any other feelings the similarities between this professor and her little adventure tonight might be arousing.

Arousing is a really bad word to be using in the context of the issues she’s experiencing right n - _oh fuck, it’s him._

Pale grey eyes sweep the room and land on her. His expression remains impassive, but there’s something about the way his gaze lingers on her that screams he _knew, he knew, that bastard_. She’d asked him what his name was last night because, again, not that tequila’d, and had gotten Alexander in response.

She hears the _ks_ in the name now, unable to look away from him.. Aleksander Morozova, tenured professor in her chosen field of study, and why the crap had she never paid attention to the author photo at the end of every book she’d ever read by him???

_Oh god, I trashed his latest theory to his face. Oh god, why me._

She’s so caught up in the sheer magnitude and horror of what is happening to her right now that she almost misses it. Almost. But she’d had the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with his mouth last night, and she just barely catches the way it quirks up at the corner, the faintest smirk that somehow makes her furious and sort of turned on at the same time. He knows. He knows, and he’s _laughing_ at her.

Her own lips move before she can stop herself, which is sort of how she got herself into this situation.

_You dick_ , she mouths, before he lowers his gaze to the roll with a sweep of those ridiculously long lashes.

“My name,” he says, “is Aleksander Morozova. I am here to teach you, not to befriend you. You will refer to me as Professor Morozova, or sir.”

_You **dick**_ , she mouths again, even as a shiver works through her, even as that memory reel loops again and jesus christ, she is so boned.


End file.
